


A Point of National Pride

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Accents, Gen, Literature, Nationalism, Poetry, Quotations, Russian, robert burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-01
Updated: 2010-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody can ever tell if Chekov is joking or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Point of National Pride

**Author's Note:**

> HOLY CRAP FIRST FIC IN THE FANDOM. ::flailflail:: Scotty quotes from [this text](http://www.worldburnsclub.com/poems/translations/address_to_a_haggis.htm) and Chekov from [this one.](http://www.world-art.ru/lyric/lyric.php?id=17413) No Scotsmen were harmed in the production of this fanfic.

The funny thing about Ensign Chekov—well, one of the funny things—on a long list of things that ranged on a spectrum from funny to odd to damned peculiar—the thing was, you could never tell when the lad was joking. He had that sweet innocent smile, the same one that inspired the cooks to give him extra desserts, whether he was talking about his last away mission or his childhood in Siberia or abstract scientific theory; it was a smile that had won a few too many card games. He was as clever as they said, though, a damn sight better than even some of the experienced technicians, which is why Montgomery Scott didn't mind him helping out around Engineering from time to time. If he went off on one of his funny turns, well, that was the price they'd have to pay.

Except _this_ was going too far.

"Robert Burns," Monty said distinctly, "was nae a _Russian."_

Chekov just kept smiling, entirely too innocently. "If you are speaking of Robyert Vassilievich Bernov--"

"Listen here, laddie." Monty waved a laser spanner under Chekov's nose. "I'm nae expert on world literature, but I am a bloody Scotsman, and I think I know where Robert bloody Burns came from!"

"He is wery famous," Chekov said sweetly. "Perhaps you read him in translation?"

"You, lad, are young and innocent and haven't had a fully rounded education yet," Monty growled, "And for that reason, I'll nae whip you from here to the bridge and back."

Chekov actually managed to look wounded at that. "Commander Scott, I am vell-wersed in Russian literature."

"Russian literature, oh aye," Monty said. "Because a Russian would write a poem to a _haggis!"_

"If you vere to consult the anthropological database," Chekov said, "I think you vould find, Commander, that _khagis_ is a wariation on a traditional Kazakh dish made from the stewed hind end of a camel, and wery popular in the Siberia."

Monty managed to repeat "Hind end of a--?" before his brain simply shut down in self-preservation.

Chekov nodded eagerly. "It is wery delicious. Perhaps I shall recommend the recipe to the kitchens?"

Leaning forward, Monty braced both hands on the console between them so he wouldn't be tempted to strangle anyone. "Ensign. Lad. I do believe that you're having a go at me."

"Go?" Chekov blinked innocently. "Oh, no, Commander Scott, I vould never go at you."

"You're messing me about," Monty continued. "You're _joking."_

Chekov frowned. "Great literature is nothing to joke about."

"Go on, then," Monty said, jabbing a finger into the lad's chest. "Let's hear it."

"Hear?" Chekov echoed.

"Let's hear your idea of Rabbie Burns' verse. How's it go?" He tried his best to imitate the lad's ridiculous accent. "'Feir fa' yoor honest, soonsie fece--'"

Chekov chimed in, folding his hands behind his back like he was reciting for a teacher. "V tebye, ya slablyu komandira, vsyekh pudingov goryachikh mira--"

"'—gret chieftain of ze pooding race!'" Monty said louder.

Chekov matched the increase in volume. "Strochu, poka mne sluzhit lira, tebye stikhi--"

"'—Ze grooning trencher zere ye feel--!'"

"—ty vycish'sya, kak kholm dalyokiy--"

"'—your peen vad help to mend a meel--'"

They carried on oblivious to the rest of the Engineering section, who had frozen in place to observe the exchange, and to Captain Kirk and Commander Spock, who had both stopped short in the doorway of the engine room. Kirk, without taking his eyes off his screaming crewmen, said to Spock, "Ten credits if you can figure out what the hell they're talking about."

Spock reached for his communicator.

"Without asking Uhura," Kirk clarified.

Spock dropped his hand, and gave his captain a glare.


End file.
